


And It Rained All Night

by havisham



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Id Fic, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:58:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky came back, and he was so cold to the touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And It Rained All Night

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween!

It rained, the night Bucky came back. Drops as big as Steve’s hands and feet fell on old London town, and Steve was caught in it, soaked to the skin. Ruefully, he wished that he’d taken up Peggy’s offer to share her cab to their lodgings. “No, thank you,” he had said, “I think I’ll walk home. Clear my mind.” And she had thrown back her rather splendid head and laughed. 

“If you like,” she had said, still amused, before closing the cab door with a decided thump.

Well, there had been plenty of time to regret it by the time he had sloshed his way to his accommodations and then left a watery trail up the narrow steps to his room. The blackout was already down, and even if the landlady hadn’t retired for the night, it would’ve been hard-going to get hot water up here. So Steve settled for a quick rub-down with a towel and a change of clothes, just some slacks and a t-shirt. He wasn’t expecting anyone to drop by -- having already seen to Peggy for the night, and with the other Howling Commandos who-knows-where, getting their final kicks in before the next big push.

And Bucky was dead.

Steve knew that what Peggy had said was right, that to honor Bucky was to give him the dignity of his choice, but Steve couldn’t get get past the way Bucky’s face had twisted in shock, in genuine surprise when Steve couldn’t catch him. There had been no choice then. 

Peggy didn’t know about the nightmares Steve had, every night since Bucky fell. It was the same thing, every night, like a reel of film playing in his head. He reached out for Bucky’s hand. He missed; the railing fell away, and Bucky dropped into oblivion, betrayal showing on his face. As plain as that.

Steve touched his face, but his cheeks were dry. If he were still in Brooklyn, and frail, by now he would be sneezing, and feeling ragged around the edges. It was days like this, Bucky would come home with something extra to cheer Steve up, even if the thing was as simple as a comic book, or a piece of candy. Of course, Steve wasn’t big on candy, so Bucky would end up eating it, and they’d pore over the comic together.

But none of that mattered now. 

With a sigh, Steve took out a thick file out from his satchel, and began to read. It was dull stuff, but important, and he fought against an encroaching need for sleep as long as he could. Sometime after midnight, he did drop off, and did not dream. 

A sharp knock at the door startled him awake. He fumbled with the lamp, and felt around for the shield. He had the sudden idea that he might be under attack, though most assailants he’d met with so far didn’t bother knocking. He opened the door an inch -- “What is it? An emergency?” 

An achingly familiar voice answered him; it felt like a blow. “What’s the matter, Steve? You don’t have time for an old friend?” 

It would have been dramatic if Steve had dropped the shield now, but he didn’t. He set it on the table carefully, and opened the door a little more. His hands weren’t shaking. He willed them not to shake. “Bucky?” 

And it was Bucky, as wet as Steve had been a few hours ago. He was still wearing the blue jacket he had had on, the day he fell. His dark hair was slicked back with rainwater, and the bones of his face stood stark against his pale skin, but his eyes were just as alive and blue and mischievous as ever. His mouth quirked up into a familiar smirk. “Aren’t you gonna let me in?” 

“Oh, God, Bucky. Come in, please come in. How did you --? We looked everywhere -- but there wasn’t enough time --” Steve’s words tripped over each other, as clumsy as he himself no longer was, but his movements were sure as he drew Bucky in and locked the door behind him. Bucky didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk. He was content to let Steve dry his hair and peel off his jacket and then the shirt underneath it. 

There were stains, dark brown and smelling like blood, on the shirt, on the jacket, but Steve said nothing about that. He laid them to dry on the bedpost, next to his own things. After a moment of hesitation, he eased Bucky out of his pants, and then his boots. Bucky was unresisting, his expression thoughtful. The room smelled close now, full of bodies gone long unwashed and something else, underneath it all. 

Bucky’s dogtags gleamed dully on his bare chest, where Steve touched it for a moment, reverently. When they had searched the valley for Bucky’s body, they had found nothing, only some of the twisted wreckage from the train. There was no body, no tags--that was hope enough for Steve, though as the months passed, that had grown cold and stale.

“You’re freezing,” Steve said, and it was true, Bucky’s skin was cold to the touch, as if he had been outside for a long time. But he seemed to brighten, to warm as Steve laid his hands on the side of Bucky’s face. 

“I thought I lost you,” Steve said. 

“You did,” Bucky said. 

Steve collapsed into bed next to Bucky, letting the bedsprings squeak in protest. He pushed the hair from his face, which felt suddenly hot and tight. “That’s fair. I had responsibility to you, Bucky, and I failed.”

Bucky seemed to loosen up after that, making a face at Steve’s serious turn of mind. He said, voice pitched low, “We can argue over whose fault it was later, but Steve, I have to tell you something --” 

They were side by side, nose to nose on Steve’s bed, Steve’s arm settling on Bucky’s hip. They had only been together for a few months before Bucky had fallen -- that was to say, together-together, as opposed to be simply together, which they had been for all of their lives. It was still new, to both of them, and Steve marveled at the way they fit together so easily, the distance between them crossed, erased, as if it had never been.

“Bucky,” he said softly, “it was my fault.” 

“Steve,” Bucky said, in an equally soft voice, “shut up.” 

And then he kissed Steve, and kept on kissing Steve until he sighed, and let the questions go for the time being. Steve’s old shirt was rolled over his head and tossed aside, and after a few awkward tussles, both of them were naked, or nearly so. 

Bucky made a pleased noise in the back of his throat, “Beautiful,” he said, kissing Steve’s neck. Steve drew Bucky on top of him, and then kicked apart his legs. Steve wanted to touch him everywhere, to know him again, but everything he touched was as it had been. There were no signs at all of what Bucky had -- what Bucky must have -- gone through. No scars, no broken bones, crookedly healed. The unreality of the situation struck him again. It was impossible. 

It was a dream, but Bucky was above him, breathless and alive -- he had to be alive, didn’t he? Bucky looked down at him, his mouth puckered into a sweet shape, “Steve,” he said, “I have to -- Steve, I’m _starving_.” 

Steve was having a difficult time breathing, although the super-soldier serum was supposed have cured him of his asthma. Between gasps for breath, he anchored himself up and said, “We could find you a restaurant. Something’s got to be open, even at this time of night.” 

“Mm, yeah,” Bucky said, pushing his head against Steve’s shoulder, his mouth lightly grazing it, and then moving upwards, to Steve’s neck, “that’s not what I meant.” Steve felt two little pinpricks against his skin, needle-sharp and and needful. He pushed Bucky away, in shock -- and sudden understanding. Bucky pulled back, his mouth still slightly open, two sharp fangs peeking delicately out from the curl of his lips. He had the grace to look apologetic. “Sorry.” 

“Bucky!” Steve wanted to wrap the bed-sheets around him and push Bucky out of bed, and he did at least one of those things, but Bucky had already scrambled away, trailing half the sheets with him. 

“I tried to tell you! And you gotta have at least suspected, Steve, c’mon.” Bucky perched on the table, beside the shield. “It was pretty obvious.” 

“ _Vampires don’t exist_.” 

“Says the guy who fights monsters like me for a living.” 

Steve, who was clinging to the bedpost for dear life, soon collected himself. “You’re not a monster,” he said firmly. 

Bucky gave him a toothy -- a fangy -- grin. “Says you.” 

“Yeah, says me.” Steve patted the spot next to him on the bed. “Come on, I have to make the bed tomorrow.” Bucky made a show of thinking about it, hemming and hawing, tapping his feet on the wooden floor until Steve got impatient and pulled him back into bed. Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky, firmly, determined not to let go. He pressed his face against the back of Bucky’s neck. “How did this happen?” 

Impatiently, Bucky said, “You’ve seen the movies.” 

“You were sleeping in a white negligee when some creep snuck into your bedroom and bit you?” 

“Ha. Like what I did to you tonight? No. I fell into a nest of them. I don’t think they even -- I don’t think they even meant to turn me. They were starving and -- they fought over me. Near tore my left arm off.” Steve circled Bucky’s wrist tentatively. 

Bucky continued, speaking quietly, his back stiff. “Some of their blood must’ve gotten into my mouth, and I must’ve swallowed it before they drained me. Before I died. And then they buried me under the rubble.” 

Steve closed his eyes, thinking of the sudden, fierce snowstorm that that had delayed their search for Bucky’s body. “We walked over where you were, then.” He felt sick. 

Bucky shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“Doesn’t matter? Bucky -- you can come back, we still need you. We’d be glad to have you. I’d -- I’d _make_ them take you back.” 

“Yeah? Bloodsuckers for the Allies? How well do you think that’ll go over with the little old ladies in Dubuque?” 

“I’m sure Dubuque is a swell town, but right now, I don’t give a single fuck about it or any of the little old ladies in it,” Steve said. 

“I’m pretty sure that’ll get you stripped of your stars and stripes, if you know what I mean.” 

“ _Bucky..._ ” 

“Steve. I killed a lot of people after that. I didn’t know how any of this worked. I tore some of them up with my bare hands. Not -- not all of them were soldiers. I can’t go back to being what you want me to be ...” 

“We’ll talk about it later,” Steve said, ignoring the shake of Bucky’s head. “Now, you said you were -- hungry?” 

Bucky turned to him, appraising. “Yeah.” 

“How does it work?” 

“I, uh, find a vein and dig in --” Bucky caught the look on Steve’s face and continued on, hastily, “and the fangs release a venom, heals you right up and makes you forget all about me.” 

“Impossible,” Steve said, promptly, “Now, do you want to do the neck? The wrist?” 

“The inner thigh is pretty good too, no visible marks in the day-time... Or so I’ve heard,” said Bucky, a red glint shining in his bright blue eyes. 

Steve pushed away his doubts and said, sounding as phlegmatic as he could, “Huh. Well, okay. Do you best. Or worst, I guess.” 

Later, Steve reached down and ruffled Bucky’s hair, his hand showing white against the dark brown curls. “It’s not so bad,” he said, feeling a little light-headed. “It feels kind of good, actually. All things considered.” He lapsed into silence, and the only noise in the room was the sound of Steve’s breathing, and the soft lapping of Bucky’s tongue against the open wound on Steve’s thigh. 

Bucky looked up, his hair mussed and blood smeared around his mouth, which was a deep, debauched red. “No shit.” A quick flick of pink tongue licked away a little glot of blood in the corner of his mouth. 

Intensely curious, Steve asked, “So, does my blood taste different than other peoples?” 

“Oh, you taste _great_ ,” Bucky said, with one final lick. 

Steve offered his hand and Bucky considered it for a second before taking it and letting Steve haul him up. When they were, at last, side by side and eye to eye, Steve began to trace a slow line up Bucky’s chest (rattling his dogtags) and up his throat and chin, to his mouth. “Stay here, at least until I wake up?” 

Bucky kissed Steve’s fingers. “Go to sleep, Steve.” 

“Bucky, _no_ , promise me.” 

“I can’t.” 

And then Steve was out like a light. 

 

The next morning dawned, a cautiously clear day, grey and shining. Steve woke up sore and feeling, for the first time in a long time, vaguely hungover. The room was a mess, and he was, of course, alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, caughtinanocean for the quick beta job! The title borrowed from the deliciously creepy song by Thom Yorke. ([And It Rained All Night (Burial Remix)](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UShzBZexFqk).


End file.
